


Cobain

by harrystyles4life



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Depression, F/M, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:56:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2063739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrystyles4life/pseuds/harrystyles4life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie has been best friends with Cobain for years and loves her dearly. His relationship with her is a little bumpy but almost perfect up until a Tuesday night when Cobain takes her own life. As the months past by, Charlie learns more about who Cobain really was and how to move on from this tragic death</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Chapter One  
Cobain blows into the cigarette and I watch as her body becomes a million times more relaxed as she inhales the chemicals. When I first met Cobain Riley, I would tell her about all the harmful things drugs, smoking, and alcohol do to people. All of that is out the window now. From watching my best friend in the entire world do these kinds of things, I have seen all the positive aspects of what she is engaging in. She's a better person after she's had a smoke. She seems happier and calmer and less angry at the world and herself.  
On the outside, Cobain Riley is flawless. From the dusty rose colored tresses that cascade down to her ribcage to her emerald eyes that have more emotion than I have in my entire body. It would be an understatement to say Cobain is stunning. I've heard guys talk about how much they'd kill to be with her. Not just screw her, Cobain is the kind of girl you'd want to actually date. Or at least that's what I heard. Everyone had agreed she was the most attractive person in the freshman class before she dropped out in March three years ago. Even after she left Bradshaw High, I still can hear conversations about how hot she is going on throughout the hallways. Her body is a big attraction towards most. Cobain is stick thin for the cigs have given her a lack of appetite and therefor meets most the expectations of the world in this day and age. I know that smoking is essential to her but I just wish she would eat more.  
It's just the inside of Cobain that scares me. Once you really get a look into the oh so “perfect” Cobain Riley, you start to realize that she is so much more than her beauty. She is brilliant for starters and that's why her dropping out of school upset me so much but she is also one of the most caring people I've ever met though she chooses to keep that piece of herself locked away. Cobain Riley is a funny, sarcastic, and spontaneous person who I have never felt safer with yet there is something inside of her that I could only think to describe as demons that eat at her soul and tear away her mood to the point where at times, my best friend is gone and replaced with a cynical, angry, and miserable person who can't stand herself. I get so scared seeing her like this for my biggest fear is that one day, Cobain will be completely gone and this girl will stay there forever until she soon dissopears.  
“Hey wanna get a slice after this?” I suggest. Cobain takes her last inhale and then promptly stomps the cigarette out with her bulky combat boots. She then takes a swig of the water she'd brought along and answers me with a shake of her head. I just sit and watch as she fixes her corkscrew curls into a messy bun in the back of her head. Most girls would do anything to have hair like Cobain but she chooses to hide it in hats and buns claiming she isn't attractive in any way possible which is insane to even think.  
“Have you eaten anything today?” I'm worried for the answer. Cobain stuffs the pack of cigarettes in her pocket and drops the bottle into the backpack she carries everywhere.  
“You don't need to look out for me Charlie.” she claims bitterly.  
“I'm your best friend and I want to look out for you.” I answer, “I was just asking if you had eaten anything. It's just a question.”  
“Why the fuck are you always trying to take care of me! I am the one who's two years older than you! Just fuck off Charlie! Go focus on something more fucking important!” Cobain shouts as she slings her backpack over her shoulder. The two of us sit in silence for about a minute after that. Cobain's face eventually softens and she mumbles an apology. I forgive her. Whenever Cobain is stressed or anxious (which is most of the time), she can tend to have outbursts like this. I know her better than anyone else I have ever met and I know she didn't mean what she said.  
“Hey to make it up to you, wanna get a slice?” she sighs. I know it is hard for her to eat and she is really trying her hardest. I beam and nod my head. The two of us then trudge out of the reservation on the outskirts of town and down into the village where the pizzeria is located.  
Cobain nibbles on her food throughout the meal though I know she's trying her hardest and I just sit and watch her across the table as she does so. There is something about Cobain that is endlessly fascinating and no it is not her beauty because all of that is completely trivial but I'm talking about the things not everyone knows about her. The things only her best friend knows. Like the way she talks about her future and all the stupid shit she wants to do yet will contradict herself and claim that nothing is going to happen in the next couple years. Though I want her to believe in what herself (as tacky as it sounds), I know the second she gets self confidence in her capability is the day she leaves me for someone more worthy of being her closest friend. Someone more adventurous and just downright not as big a loser. I try and shake the bad thoughts out of my head. The ones where Cobain doesn't want to spend time with me anymore or that she is just using ones for I know that they are pretty fucking irrelevant yet they seem to make sense in my head and clog up my mind. And all of a sudden I am getting so anxious I can't seem to remember or realize what is going on right now, in the present, until I feel her hand on mine.  
“You alright?” Cobain cocks her head to the side and asks, “Hey Charlie, I'm sorry for what I said earlier.” she follows up.  
“No need to say sorry. You already apologized.” I remind her.  
“I gave you a half ass apology. I can't yell at you like that.” She pauses and begins to bite her lip- she always does that when she's nervous. “I just sometimes forget that other people have feelings. I mean for God's sake all we fucking talk about are my stupid issues.”  
“That's not true Cobain.” I begin  
“When was the last time we even discussed how you were feeling?” she interrogates. I am beginning to feel uncomfortable sitting with her for we both know the answer that will prove her right.  
“Exactly Charlie! This is entire relationship is so one sided. Jesus Christ I'm a fucking prick...” she trails off and I put my hand on top of her's- it's my turn.  
“Look, Cobain, it's fine. I'm fine. Don't worry about it. Everything is ok.” I reassure. “and we all know you're a prick.” I joke and she playfully punches my shoulder in response.  
“OK, just tell me if anything happens. You know I'm here for you man. Just like you are every time for me.”  
“Will do.” I respond as I take another bite of pizza. She begins to completely leave her slice alone and I know it is all too much to ask her to finish since I know she tried her best. Her emerald eyes look into mine and I know she's giving me a non verbal apology and so I take it without saying another word since I know whatever comes out of my mouth won't make her feel better. Whenever she feels as though she's disappointed someone, there really isn't anything you can do but wait for the feelings to blow over for they usually leave within minutes.  
Her face eventually softens like it always does after she's out of a bad mood and I begin to speak before she cuts me off.  
“That was good pizza man.” her facial expression is much brighter and so is her mood (or at least it seems so) as the two of us walk out of the pizza shop and back to my house as we always do on these type of days.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
“OK think about it like this: what other idea could you come up with to hide the deaths? The thought of covering it up with suicide is genius!” Cobain tries to convince me that the whole concept of “Heathers” is a “masterpiece” as the two of us sit up in my bedroom. She's sprawled out on my floor sketching a picture in my carpet with her finger as she goes on and on about “the greatest movie of all time”. Cobain and I have both kind of adapted to each other's taste in music and movies with having spent the past four years being best friends and spending almost everyday together yet we still continue to fight over silly things such as “Heathers”.  
“Alright, I see what you're saying about the whole suicide piece but what about JC? What made him want to blow the whole school up without his faithful sidekick of Winona Rider?” I argue.   
“Have you even seen the fucking movie?” Cobain questions. “He thinks Veronica is dead! God you're an idiot.” I know she isn't exactly all that angry at me and I can't help but laugh at how passionate she is getting over an irrelevant movie. Cobain rolls her eyes and half tackles me on the bed.   
“God I hate you.” Cobain giggles as she lightly punches my arm as she always does. Our laughing fit ends with Cobain's phone buzzing, as she checks it, I know exactly who it is just by the way her face drops.  
“I've got to go Charlie, my dad wants me home.” she explains and I just nod my head.   
“Yeah it's fine. I'll see you tomorrow right?” I ask as Cobain begins to exit my bedroom. She nods her head and disappears around the door way. Ever since summer vacation started last week, the two of us have been hanging out basically every day. I don't know why I can be around her so much, being an introvert, yet as corny and stupid as it is to say, I feel as though there is no one who gets me as much as Cobain Riley. She has the same sense of humor, opinions (well almost), and thoughts and there is no one I'd ever rather be with. Yet there is always that dark side of my best friend. The one that comes up all too often and hangs over her like a gross cloud of sadness. The one that ruins are days together and the rest of Cobain's life. I just wish it would go away for I know that she doesn't deserve it. Even the thought of Cobain being hurt wrenches my heart and I have to witness it almost every day. I asked her about the feeling of anger and sadness she gets one day about a year ago.  
“It's like someone is suffocating you.” she answered.   
“How did it start?” I asked. Cobain threw her arms out at this. She was leaning up against a tree while the two of us were in the woods as I watched her smoke a marlboro. We had gone down to explore this little clearing she'd found but we somehow ended up in between a pair of oaks.   
“I don't know Charlie God dammit!” Cobain yelled, clearly exasperated. “Ugh why do you ask the stupidest questions? You should know of all people I hate talking about this shit. I feel like I'm fucking glamorizing it whenever I talk about it.” she pounded her hand on the tree and finally took a deep breath giving me her “please forgive me” eyes. The same ones she gave me this morning and every other time she has ever yelled at me. I just wanted to know how her depression started. I wanted to know why my best friend since third grade quit high school. I wanted to figure out why she was constantly getting angry at herself and talking about how much better she'd be dead for I knew that one day, she would really believe it and do the job. But like usual, I dropped it because that is what I do. I let go of things like a good friend or just the friend Cobain wanted because that is basically all I do- what Cobain wants. And so I lay here now just thinking about why and how this happened and what I can do to fix it but the answer terrifies me because there really isn't much I can do to help Cobain.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three  
My mom and I sit across the dinner table as she continues to complain about one of her coworkers like usual. Our conversations have been dry and uninteresting like this ever since my dick of a father ditched us three years ago to go off and marry a lawyer he'd met at a convention in California. I remember the day he came home and explained what was going on to me. I was only thirteen and had heard the two of them both fighting downstairs a couple minutes ago and my mother shouting on the phone night after night yet I was still clueless why dad was coming home after three weeks just to pack up his stuff.   
“Son, your mom and I haven't been getting along very well lately.” he began. “You know what being stuck in a rut means?” I nodded my head but I didn't know how that connected to the situation.  
“Well Charlie, I've been stuck in a rut for quite awhile with your mother and we've decided to go our separate ways.” I was old enough to understand that my parents weren't getting along but I never really imagined something like this would ever happen. My mom and dad fought quite often yet it was always resolved. And that's when everything came crashing down on me. The three of us were that cookie cutter family. We would decorate the christmas tree together and though my father was away on business trips (or as I learned later on, in California seeing his future wife) quite often, we still managed to stay close with each other and this- this just wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to happen. It couldn't happen.   
“So you're leaving?” I asked naively. Of course he was leaving and I knew that yet I was just hoping maybe, he'd prove me wrong. He'd tell me everything was ok.   
“I'm sorry champ.” he began to rub my shoulder but I pulled away. I didn't even want to look at him much less have him touching me. “You are welcome to visit me and Lindy in California.” I couldn't believe it. This was supposed to be reassuring? After a minute or two of me just staring at him, he left my room with a wave and a small   
“I'm sorry.” It was the last time my father was ever here at the house and one of the final times I ever talked to him. We tried to stay in touch for the next couple months but he was all too busy and at one point, I took the hint and never called or answered his messages again.   
“So Charlie, how was your day?” my mother paused from her boring story and I was back in real life. Present day.  
“Good, Cobain and I hung out.” I answered as I began to pick at the broccoli on my plate. My mother nodded her head as if asking me to continue but I didn't. There wasn't much else I could really say. I didn't want to tell her about it. I didn't want to think about it to be honest.   
“How is she?” my mother inquired. Though I would like to believe that she didn't actually want to know and just wanted a conversation, I knew that wasn't the truth. My mother absolutely adores Cobain.   
“She's doing good.”  
“What about school with her? Has she signed up for any programs?” my mother was very involved in the entire situation when Cobain dropped out of school in her sophomore year two years ago and she has been hoping that Cobain has had some bit of education. Especially since her parents are so uninvolved in Cobain's life and decisions. Both of them have very active social lives and therefor are constantly at parties and events and vacation homes they share on invitation from their rich co workers. Cobain and I laugh at how ridiculous they are, pretending they are much richer, younger, and better than they are yet I know that deep down, their neglection must hurt her.  
“Not that I know of. School hasn't been a big concern of her's lately.” the conversation is going somewhere I really wish it wouldn't and I try and give my mother a non verbal signal to stop but she continues on.   
“That girl is one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. It's just such a shame you know? So much potential gone because of one decision she made when she was sixteen.” I know this is going to turn to a lesson about why I shouldn't drop out of school and I know it. My mom always thinks whatever Cobain does, I'll eventually follow in her footsteps. Especially since know I am “You won't quit school Charlie? Right?” I nod my head.   
“Mom, I'm not dropping out. Don't worry.” I'm beginning to pay more attention to my vegetables than her.   
“I wouldn't let you anyways.” my mother decides as she begins to clear up the table. “I just wish Cobain's parents would do the same.” I nod my head in agreement but there is a lot of things Cobain's parents should do and not letting her drop out of school is just one thing. Her parents don't know about the drugs and alcohol. They are aware of her mental state but the most they have done was tell her it was just a phase and a way to get their attention (which it wouldn't hurt for them to give her some). I begin to help my mother with clearing the table and once the kitchen is clean, I say a quick goodnight to her and walk up the stairs to my bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four  
I sometimes like to think about what would happen if my dad hadn't left. What my mom would be like? What would I be like? Though their divorced happened only a mere three years ago, everything about it seems so muddled and unclear as if I were an infant and I guess that's what best not just for my mother but for me. The two of us have been making it work ever since my father went off and though he does pay child support, it's just enough to make ends meet. And sometimes though I want to hate my father as much as I say I do, I can't and sometimes, I just wish he'd come back and be that perfect, cookie cutter, family with my mother and I again because that is what was supposed to happen. Ever since he left, I have grown to move on from it and the fantasy we were living in that was just ever so fake. We were never the perfect family. For God's sake my dad cheated on my mother! Families don't do that. We weren't meant to. And though I sometimes do hold onto the dream of my parents being together and Lindy being non existent, I don't think anyone was worsely affected than my mother. Ever since he ditched the two of us for perfect, beautiful, Lindy from California, she has been obsessed with pretending everything is fine. Everything is OK. Everything is awesome. When it's not. We can barely afford to live in this house and whenever anyone (more specifically, me or my grandmother) suggest that maybe it's time to move out of the house and find something cheaper, she instantly goes into panic mode. It's almost as if a little button in her brain was clicked and now she has realized that reality bites. She will go into a long rant about how she has everything is all under control and there is no way we need to move out of the home we have been living in ever since our family (meaning the fake cookie cutter one) came to Pennsylvania and we both know that it isn't the house that she holds onto but the memories. Once we leave this home, all thought of the perfect family will be gone and we will have nothing to show from it and in a way, she is right. I have been living in this house my entire life and she has stayed here for sixteen years and maybe if we just stay a little longer, that perfect, idyllic, family will come back and somehow, everything will go back to the way it was and be OK.   
So here I am. Staring up at the ceiling of the same bedroom I have stayed in for my entire life in this perfect little house with a terrible ache in my stomach and head of what I want and a crippling case of reality check. I end up not able to take my more of my own head and thoughts so switch on the small TV in my bedroom and begin to watch some stupid show where I believe one of the character's is having a dental problem of something stupid and pointless like that yet I just can't seem to concentrate on anything or get the images of perfect out of my head. They are haunting me. Following me. Once I even slightly think about my family or mom, I get down into a spiral of terrible thoughts and worry. My mind is just so focused on these problems that I end up turning the TV off and just lay there in the dark, hoping that maybe, just maybe, I'll get some sleep tonight though I know it is unrealistic to think so.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five  
I got about two hours of sleep. My night mainly consisted of tossing and turning and worrying. My anxiety wrapped me up in a coffin of terrible thoughts and I couldn't seem to shake it. They were suffocating me and I was barely awake when my phone rang with the usual call from Cobain.   
“Hello?” I half heartily said. I was awake yet I just felt like turning over and going back to bed.   
“You OK?” Cobain's voice rang through my ears.  
“Yeah. Yeah just really tired.”  
“Rough night?” she asks. I grunt in reply. “Are you conscious enough to possibly get up and come over to my house?”   
“Yeah.” I respond “I'll be over in a few minutes.”  
I end up on Cobain's couch. Her parents have already left for work as they do every day and probably won't be home until late at night. They probably have some party or stupid event to go to or something ridiculous like that. Cobain is nonchalantly lounging on the love seat with a cigarette between two fingers. I remember when she first started smoking. She'd lean out the window or sit in the backyard with the smoke streaming out of her mouth but now it has gotten to the point where she doesn't care and that's what worries me. Cobain just doesn't give a shit. The drugs and smoking and alcohol have all just become regular things. A daily routine almost. And we have both tricked ourselves into thinking it is essential to the point where it is. These things have changed her.   
“What would you think about going to the park? Like grabbing a pizza pie and splitting it in the field?” Cobain breaks the silence. I know she is only doing this to make me worry less about her but I agree anyways and the two of us trek down to town to grab a pie.   
After we've gotten the pizza, we find a small clearing within out local park- one with not many people. Cobain is eating more than I thought she would as she begins to explain her hatred towards one of the guys at our school (well my school but the one she used to go to).  
“No you don't understand. He's a fucking douche.” she says for about the millionth time. I roll my eyes- not because I disagree with her (Cobain couldn't be any more right) but just because she is basing her reasoning on things that happened two years ago.   
“Have you even seen Brandon recently?” I finally question. She lets out a sigh and lays down on the grass.   
“For your information, I have.” she says matter of factually, “Remember that party I was at last week?” I nod my head. Of course I do. It was one of the first times Cobain has ever actually gone to a party. She hates social gatherings.   
“He was there. Grabbed my butt too ugh what a little dickhead.” she brushes stray hairs out of her face and closes her eyes as I just stare at her. We have hot a moment of silence and I'm fine with that because when the two of us aren't talking it isn't weird or uncomfortable or awkward. Cobain then opens her eyes and looks over at me and then starts to clean up the array of cups and plates and cigarettes we have here on the grass and then offers her hand to me to help pull myself up.   
“Hey, I was invited to a party tonight and though I was going to turn it down, I thought it would be cool if maybe the two of us went.” she begins. Before she can finish, I have already rejected the entire idea.   
“Would anyone seriously want a sophomore at a senior party?” I inquire.   
“Come on! We can laugh at all the douche bag guys and listen to bad music for three hours! Think of all the fun.” she urges. I still want to say no but the way she is persuading me into really shows that this seems like a good idea to her and to be honest, I haven't really seen her be this into something in a long time.   
“Fine.” I breathe out. “OK OK I'll go.” a smile spreads across Cobain's face as we walk back to her house.   
Cobain and I are on the front lawn of Taylor Crosley, a quite popular senior's home. From what I can tell, this is a graduation party and I can;t help but feel a certain sadness that Cobain could of graduated this year if she hadn't dropped out.   
“Hey! I didn't think you'd make it!” Taylor swings the door open and puts his arm around Cobain. By the smell of his breath, I can tell he's drunk but of course he is. Everyone here is at least buzzed. Cobain play along and flips her hair back responding with,   
“Oh Taylor, of course I came- wouldn't miss it for the world!” I snort at how fake everything she is saying appears to be yet Taylor doesn't get the hint at all and continues on to playing with her hair.  
“Who's the kid?” he asks. Cobain takes this as an opportunity to gesture dramatically at me.  
“Oh this is Charlie.” she explains as she gradually begins to lean into the crook of his neck. This entire situation is exceptionally awkward. Here I am on the front porch step of a guy I have never talked to in my life's house as my best friend fake flirts with him. Do I go inside? Walk out? I just want to be anywhere but here.   
“I hope you don't mind that I brought a guest.” she continues on. Her weight is now completely on him as she grazes his cheek with her lips. Taylor shakes his head.  
“No it's fine, he can stay.” I nod my head and mumble a small thanks as I watch Cobain trace over his face with her finger and walk into the house with Taylor.   
“Want to go someone more private?” he finally asks her. As she walks away, Cobain cranes her neck over and gives me one finger signaling this will only be a minute which we both know it won't. If I had known the night would go like this, I definitely wouldn't go yet Cobain pushed me into it like always. Of course she would hook up with someone tonight. She can have anyone she wants and took the opportunity. So here I am, stuck in Taylor fucking Crosley's living room with a bunch of wasted teenagers feeling more out of place than ever. The music is all too loud and I just can't handle it anymore. I should go home. I shouldn't be here. Losers like me don't belong in places like this. Just as I'm about to walk out the door, I remember that I can't leave Cobain here. Though it was a dick move of her to ditch me like that, I know I should stay. She always bounces back and I'm just hoping this won't be an exception. So instead of walking out the door like I am just oh so longing to, I stay and go into the bathroom to get away from all the chaos. I sit down on the toilet and wash my hands and then stare at myself in the mirror. Looking back at me is Charlie Traicker. Loser. Idiot. Complete follower. I examine my short brown locks and bangs. I look into my muddy brown eyes and obsess over the little pimple on my chin because for some, unknown, reason, I can't get over the fact that this is me. This is the person I am stuck with for the rest of my life and that is just so hard to understand sometimes. I am snapped out of my own racing thoughts as my phone buzzes with a message from Cobain asking where I am. Before answering, I check the time. I have been in here for almost ten minutes and didn't even notice. I give myself one more look in the mirror before leaving my reflection behind and going back to my best friend who probably just hooked up with a douche.   
“Hey there you are!” I hear Cobain scream over the music.   
“So how was Taylor?” I try to make my voice sound less bitter but it just doesn't work. I am mad and I seriously can't hide it. Cobain sighs.  
“Come on Charlie. We just made out on his bed. That was it.” I still can't help but roll my eyes. “What?” she demands.  
“Nothing.”  
“It's not nothing Charlie don't even pretend. What are you mad about? That I left you for ten minutes? That you weren't by my side for a mere ten fucking minutes?”   
“Yeah kind of. I mean you left me down here with a bunch of strangers while you fucking made out with that dick!” I accuse. Cobain's eyes narrow and I can tell that she is going into one of those spirals she gets in her head. The ones where anger completely controls her body and she takes it all out on me.   
“I was just trying to have fun. Jesus Christ Charlie. You should try it sometime.” Cobain retorts. I don't respond. I know that answering her will make her angrier. No matter what I say. The two of us just stand there, staring at each other in a silent, non verbal, battle as I wait for Cobain to calm down. For she will at a point and she finally does as I watch her face soften.  
“I promised. I fucking promised you and I broke that Charlie. I'm sorry.” she apologizes “God dammit it's not even a half an hour into this party and I've already fucked everything up.” Cobain's face drops as she leans on the wall of the kitchen as if she's about to faint.   
“Hey come on Cobain. You didn't fuck every single thing up. I may have overreacted. It's fine. I'm not mad.” I reassure her. She sighs and gives me a quick hug.   
“Thanks. I needed that.” she begins, “Come on Charlie, let's go have some fun.” Cobain grins as she leads me away from the entrance of the kitchen and by the counter where a couple of teenagers who I don't know are drinking who knows what.   
“Hey you're Cobain Riley? Right?” a sleazy looking guy asks as we appear. He's obviously drunken by the way he slurs his words and moves like a rag doll.   
“The one and only, man.” she smiles and bends over to bow for effect. The guy across from us gives her a floppy hand to shake and she willingly takes it. As he is about to pull back, I feel a nudge on my arms from Cobain as if to shake his hand also and of course, I do so.  
“And you are?” he asks.  
“Charlie.” I answer as quick as possible. I'm already feeling uncomfortable around this guy.   
“I'm Eric nice to meet you.” he slurs the last part and then turns towards Cobain. “You were in my ninth grade chemistry class! Weren't you?” he questions. Cobain simply shrugs her shoulders.   
“Ninth grade was a blur to be honest. I'm not really sure. I mean I skipped chemistry anyways.” she answers with a small hair flip. Her attention then goes from Eric to the bottle in front of him. Vodka. Cobain's ultimate favorite. I know from countless nights in her bedroom while she downed bottles of her parents Karloff.   
“May I?” she gestures to the glass container. Eric gives a dramatic nod and she is instantly filling up a red solo cup with the clear liquid. As she begins sipping, she takes a seat at the counter on a bar stool and my heart drops as I know that the two of us will be here for quite awhile.   
Over the next hour, Cobain and Eric have a drunken conversation about ninth grade and all the crazy shit she got into while I sit next to her just hoping that she will sober up and we can go home. I get ten times more uncomfortable as Eric punches me in the shoulder from across the table and slurs out  
“Hey Charlie, get comfortable!” and slides a solo cup of beer (they somehow got a keg over here) towards me. I want to say no but Cobain is instantly on his side telling me about how I need to have a good time and “live a little” which I find completely ridiculous.   
“No thanks.” to prove my point that I really don't want to drink even further, I slide the cup back over to him and stare over at Cobain hoping, praying, that she will somehow be able to emphasize with me. But she is all too drunk to even be able to come up with a full sentence and of course doesn't see my discomfort.   
“Charlie, come on. It's just a beer. Liven up.” Cobain playfully punches my arm and giggles. The two of them are both on me about drinking and I can't take it. I can't take the fact that my best friend is a couple drinks close to blackout drunk, sitting next to me. I can't take that Cobain forced me into this shitty party. And most of all, I can't take that I actually agreed to come as if anything good could come out of this. Of fucking course Cobain couldn't handle the temptation of drinking. Why would I think this time would be any different? I'm just so angry I can't take it to the point where I won't hold it in anymore and know if I stay any longer, I no doubt will blow up on everyone at this damn party.  
“I'm leaving.” I announce as I grab my coat from the back of the chair and sling it over my shoulders.   
“What? You can't leave!” Cobain protests and begins to grab onto my jacket sleeve. I shake her off and start to walk out of the kitchen and Taylor Crosley's home. Once I have walked down the street, I realize something. How am I supposed to get home? Cobain was the one who drove me here and I have no idea where I am and walking home at midnight on a Saturday night in July doesn't seem to be a good idea anyways. My shoulders slump and I take a deep breath as I realize my only option is calling my mother to come and get me.   
“Hey mom.” I begin, nervously.   
“Yeah sweetie?” she answers into the phone. Of course she's awake. My mother hardly gets any sleep at night anymore. “What are you doing at Cobain's?”   
“I'm not exactly at her house...” at this point, I'm starting to question wether or not this was a good idea but I continue on anyways. “We went to a uh party and I kinda sorta need a ride home could you possibly-” before I could finish she interrupted me.  
“Honey! Are you ok? Please don't tell me anything happened...” she went on about her spiral of worry as I sat there on some unknown street curb trying to reassure her I was fine.   
“OK where are you? I'm coming.” my mom finally answered back once she had calmed down and believed that I truly was fine- well fine enough.   
“Peters Avenue.” I recite the street sign on the corner. It's hard to read in the midnight light but I make it out enough. My mother's car eventually pulls up and I get in feeling a weight being lifted off my shoulder within leaving anywhere remotely close to that party.   
“What happened?” my mom finally breaks the silence in the car ride home.  
“Nothing. Just Cobain got tired and left early without me knowing.” I lie and look into my mother's eyes to see if she knows it. “I guess she forgot she took me or something like that.”   
“Mhm.” she hums. We both know what I told her is complete bullshit but I'm almost positive she is aware of what actually happened- just doesn't want to call me out on it and I'm thankful for that.


	6. Chapter 6

I want to be furious at Cobain and I know I should be. She was the one who dragged me along to the party and ditched me. I can't forgive her this easily but when I get text messages from her, I can't help but feel bad that I left her. I look over at the digital clock in the corner of my bedroom. 2:30 am.   
“Are you still at the party?” I message her back.  
“Call me.” she writes back. I roll my eyes and know that if I talk on the phone, my mom will no doubt hear me but I'm worried it is something important so I dial her number anyways.   
“Where are you?” I question as she picks up.  
“Home.”   
“Did you drive there?” I ask. All of a sudden, I have the fear of her drunk driving pricking inside my stomach. “Please Cobain, tell me you were sober.”   
“Calm down Charlie. The designated driver drove me home in my car. I would never drive under the influence how irresponsible do you think I am?”   
“Are you OK?” I inquire.  
“Yeah yeah I'm fine.” she answers. I can tell something is bugging her. “I'm just really really sorry Charlie.” she sighs. Before I can come back in to reassure her that I'm fine (when to be honest, I'm not really), she going on again.  
“I just- it just wasn't fair. I shouldn't have left you in the beginning and I can't believe I chose fucking vodka over you. I'm going to make this right I promise Charlie. God dammit no matter what I do, I always find a way to fuck things up and I'm just really sorry. I'm so sorry Charlie.” I'm not sure if Cobain is completely sober yet but I know she means what she said.   
“It's OK Cobain. I'm not hurt. Just get some sleep ok?” I hear a grunt in reply. She must be exhausted; Cobain tends to crash after drinking as much as she did tonight.   
“I'll see you tomorrow right?” she yawns the question. I know I should hang up soon and let her get some rest.  
“Yeah of course. Just go to sleep OK?”   
“Don't think you can get rid of me Charlie Traiker. You're coming over at noon tomorrow” she yawns yet again. I agree to hanging out at her house yet again and then hang up so I can get some sleep myself.   
When I get over the Riley house, Cobain is still in her room but awake which is pretty impressive considering how drunk she was last night- she must be at least hungover. She is curled up under the blankets but is still conscious and greets me as I walk in.   
“Hey! Come in!” she ushers with her hand towards me and I walk into her attic bedroom and sit at the end of her bed. As I look closely at her, I realize Cobain is simply in her bra with nothing on top but I choose not to point it out since I know she's not uncomfortable with me seeing her like this and therefor there's not a reason to make a fuss.   
“How are you feeling?” I finally inquire after a couple seconds of silence. I was considering not asking her at all to begin with but my curiousness built up too much and I felt as though I should know.   
“I'm fine. A little dizzy but fine.” Cobain answers honestly as she begins to sort out her fuzzy bed head. As she is doing so, looking into the full length mirror to check her appearance, her orange tabby, LeeLoo Dallas (named after the fifth element) jumps up onto the bed to keep her company. I've always been afraid of cats especially LeeLoo, who is constantly angry and seems as though she's going to bite my finger off but Cobain adores her and called over to the cat and began to pet her. The feline's body psychically relaxed as Cobain did so and she smiled as she continued to run her bony fingers up and down the cat's body.   
“So how did you get home last night?” she eventually questions.   
“My mom picked me up. She was fine that I was at a party.” I reply. “I mean she knows how lame I am and how I wouldn’t do anything that would make her disappointed.” Cobain nods her head.  
“I'm sorry I couldn't drive you home last night- I should have.”   
“Don't worry about it.” I try and close up the subject of this. I really don't want to talk about the party last night I realize.   
“Lellers!” Cobain coos to her beloved cat, “Come on Charlie, cuddle up with us. You look so awkward at the end like that.” I reluctantly lie down in the middle of my best friend and her cat as I look over into her gorgeous eyes but can't help but travel my gaze down to her top half. I'm not looking at her with lust, just curiosity. I've never seen her like this. Sure, she's been in some revealing clothing but I've never seen Cobain Riley look so natural with her messed up hair from sleep and lingerie and I know that though I love about every side of Cobain this is my favorite. The peaceful, sleepy, happy, Cobain Riley.   
“Hey want to just hang out here today?” she suggests, breaking the silence. I nod my head. An easy going day sounds extremely appealing and I think the two of us need to just do nothing for once, as weird as that sounds. Cobain closes her eyes for a second as if she's going back to sleep but instead reaches out for my hand and takes it in her grasp. Her fingers run over my knuckle and she lets out a deep breath.   
“Thanks for putting up with me Charlie. You know you're my best friend, right?” she says in a voice that almost sounds like a purr. I nod my head in response and let myself relax enough to fully lay down next to her. She pulls the blankets up as if inviting me in and I do as she hints, covering myself in her duvet. Leeloo Dallas gets up soon after and leaves the room leaving an empty space between us that Cobain soon fills up. I realize then that there is a mere pair of panties keeping me away from her private parts (what am I, twelve?) and my thoughts on why she would want me here, in bed, with her begin to confuse me. The two of us lay in silence for quite awhile and I begin to lean my head down on her shoulder as I realize how tired I am from staying up last night, worrying about the girl laying down, in bed, next to me. Then all of a sudden, something happens. Something I never expected. Her lips catch mine in a rather fast going kiss as her tongue makes her way into my mouth. Instead of stopping her like I know I should, I let her continue on. I'm not really sure what to do here, this being my first kiss, but I move my head with her's and try to make this kiss a little more pleasurable though I highly doubt I am doing so. Cobain's tongue is thin and twirls around my mouth as she presses herself against my body. I can feel her tender breasts against my chest and my heart flutters for I never imagined something like this happening. I am making out with Cobain Riley, the most wonderful girl in the world. Her tongue gracefully slips out but she continues the kiss. As she does so, her hands make their way down to the bottom of my tee shirt and I begin to tense up. Not from no desire but how surreal this situation is. It can't be happening.   
“Relax.” she pauses the kiss to reassure me but then gets back to it as she lifts the shirt off my body. Our kiss is stopped as she lifts the blanket off my lower half and begins to undo my belt. She pauses for a second as I tense up again but I give her a nod to keep going. Oh please keep going. My belt is now off as she throws it to the side and off the bed and I feel a tug on my blue jeans as she begins to pull them down too. It is now that I see her full body. As much as I would like to say that it was perfect, it wasn't. It's a little rough from smoking and there are scars on her stomach and upper thighs that could only be from self harm but never the less, beautiful for though it isn''t perfect, that doesn't make it unattractive and let me tell you, if looks could kill we would all be doomed by Cobain Riley. My pants are now off and dangling off the four poster bed as Cobain reaches out for the elastic band of my boxers. I'm now getting nervous. What if I'm a disappointment? Of course I have to ruin the moment with one of my stupid worries but it still scares me.   
“You want to do this right?” she looks up for reassurance. I nod my head quickly. I really want to do this. She gives me a tiny (almost flirty) smile and begins to pull the plaid boxers down from my legs and off my feet. She then throws them down onto the ground beside my belt and shirt. My heart race is speeding up much quicker than it ever has as Cobain turns her back to me. What is going on?  
“Charlie, it's OK. Unstrap it.” she refers to her black and white striped bra and I raise my shaky hands to undo the back strap. I unlatch the two pieces from each other and watch as it falls down past her shoulders exposing her back she then completely takes the straps off her arms and lets it dangle off one of the posters of the oak bed. Cobain then slings her hair over her back and turn towards me, her chest completely exposed. She pauses for a second to let me admire her delicate and round breasts before moving back closer to me on the bed so I was in reaching distance.   
“Want to do the honors?” she almost chuckles. I nod unsurely though there is nothing I want more to do. I have always seen Cobain Riley as beautiful but never thought of her sexually for it was a little obvious we would never be that but now, as I pull her black underwear down past her ass and then down to her legs, I can't help but be extraordinarily turned on (as sleazy as that is to say). Her panties are now completely off and on the bed next to her as she did the part of getting them over her feet. Now that the two of us are undressed (I can't believe I am saying that), I'm not sure what we're supposed to do- I mean this is my first time of course but I've never been the type of guy to watch porn or even sex scenes in movies so how was I supposed to know? Cobain takes the lead by laying next to me and giving me a signal almost for me to come on top of her. I shyly move over towards her and she moves my legs to straddle her waist as she begins moving in a vigorous way and I do so also the two of us are going at it and though at first it was awkward (I even caught Cobain giggling at how clueless I was), our movements are almost natural as she rolls over and begins to passionately kiss me, pressing her soft, tender, breasts against my chest and bringing our bodies closer. I'm in ecstasy as I taste the flavor of her lips (even if they do taste slightly of vodka) and breathe in her scent of cigarettes, coffee, and mint. We go on like this for a few more minutes before I cum and she lays down next to me on her bed.   
“Oh my god.” I say in a rather breathy voice as I turn over to look at her. Cobain's eyes are sparkling and a smile spreads across her face.  
“Yeah.” she answers back. The both of us are tired out and it is pretty obvious by the way she's panting and my heart is racing. “Holy shit that just happened.” she chuckles and turns towards me as if to see if I'm ok which I am. I am more than OK. We lay in silence for a couple moments until I look over and see that Cobain's face has dropped. That goofy smile on her face is gone and replaced with a worried expression.   
“What's the matter?” I finally ask. My heart sinks because all of a sudden, I don't want to know the answer for I know it won't be the one that I want.  
“Just- just this- this is wrong.” Cobain begins to lift herself up from the bed and grabs for her bra and underwear as though she was in a hurry of some sort and I just watch as I realize this was all too good to be true. “This wasn't supposed to happen. It shouldn't happen.” she says as she puts her lingerie back on and pulls the blanket on over herself as if to pretend all of this didn't happen. She's now wiping her eyes and when I look closely, there are tears.   
“I'm sorry Charlie. I'm so sorry.” Cobain whimpers. I make a grab for my clothing and begin to pull it on to cover myself up. To pretend none of this ever happened just like Cobain wants to though that is the last thing on earth I want to do.   
“I-I should go shouldn't I?” I mutter, trying to hide the way my voice cracks. Cobain closes her eyes and gives me a weak smile as if that would make everything better which we both know it won't.   
“I'm so sorry Charlie. But I can't do this. You're my best friend and I won't let you be one of those guys.” she shakes her as she says so. The worst part is, I know what she is referring to when Cobain says “one of those guys”. For the only remotely romantic thing Cobain has ever done with another human is screw them and then never talk to them again and it was ridiculous of me to think that she would want any more out of me. That would we would be boyfriend and girlfriend. That we could go on dates and be in love because Cobain was right all the times she told me   
“I am a human being unable to experience love.” and I never believed her up until now. So I put my belt back on, give the crying girl I just had sex with once last look, and walk out the door of her bedroom. The bedroom I lost my virginity in and God dammit I hate myself for wanting her to call my name and ask me to come back because that is just a stupid thought for a girl like her to ever want a guy like me.


	7. Chapter 7

I sit across from the table from my mother at dinner. I feel disgusting in the same clothing I wore to Cobain's house yet I can't find the energy to change them so I sit there, sulking at how much I hate myself for not having her love me.   
“Something wrong?” my mother asks me. I want to tell her for aside from Cobain, she's about the only other person in my life who I talk to (and for obvious reasons, I can't talk to Cobain about this one) but I don't think talking to my mother about my regrets on sex are is a very good idea so I keep my mouth shut like usual and shake my head no.   
“How was Cobain's house? Did you have fun?” I can't help but snort at her question but instead of going into detail like I'm yearning to (I just need to tell someone), I answer with a short and simple   
“Yes. We had fun.” and hope it will end this conversation but of course it doesn't and she keeps going.  
“What did you guys do?”  
“Watch TV.”  
“How is she?”  
“Good.” my mother finally gets the hint and drops the possibility of conversation and we sit in silence. I know I should at least try and talk to my mother but sometimes, the things I need to say aren't topics you should be discussing with a parent and that's what bother me so much- I have no other friends than Cobain and whenever she fucks up, I'm alone. And sometimes, to be honest, I do undervalue my mother. She raised me a million times better than my father ever did or could and most of the time she did it on her own (thanks to Lindy). The last three years have been a little bumpy and messy and I think the both of us can admit that and though I want to roll my eyes at my mom for missing my douche bag of a father so much, I can't help but admit that there will always be a spot in my mind that wants him to come home no matter what he did.   
“Hey mom?” I finally break the silence.  
“Yeah Charlie?” she's busy doing the dishes as she responds and though I can't see her facial expression, I can tell she's surprised that I started a conversation with her. I am too.   
“Could we possibly like do something together tonight?” I feel so stupid and almost precious for asking my mom to do this with me but I don't want to be alone after what happened today. She finishes up on the last dish (doing dishes for two is pretty easy) and places it in the dishwasher before turning back around to answer.   
“Of course Charlie!” she smiles wide, “What are you thinking?”   
“Could we like uh- what a movie like the two of us used to do every night when dad was away?” I don't why I'm thinking of this but the whole topic of my father has opened up these memories in my head and though I don't exactly want to talk, I just need company. I need someone next to me. She rubs her hands on her old Levy jeans to get all the water off and then nods her head. I can tell she knows I have been thinking of dad though the two of us like to pretend the man was nonexistent.   
My mother and I end up on the worn out couch in our living room. Neither of us have done anything like this in months- years probably but it's so natural as we are curled up and I lean into my mother's shoulder. I pay attention to the movie to try and block everything that happened today out of my head and disappear into the world of the film though I know once this ends, I will have to come back down to reality. As I was well aware, the movie ended and all of a sudden, my problems came back. I look over at my mom on the couch and realize that her eyes are closed and she's leaning her head up against a throw pillow, sleeping safe and sound. I untangle myself from her and slowly and quietly walk up to my bedroom, trying not to wake her for I know she barely ever sleeps. Once I get upstairs, I throw myself across the bed and look up at the ceiling and think about what a mistake today was. Will Cobain ever want to talk to me again? I mean we've had fights before but nothing like this ever. The worst part was, this wasn't a fight. It was so much more. It was an advance in our relationship and something that never will be reversed- there's no way to do it. And what do I say? “sorry for having sex with you even though you were the once who had the idea” there's nothing I really can say sorry for. I didn't ask for any of this so why would I be the one apologizing? It's ridiculous how much I put Cobain's problems on myself to the point where they become my own. Though Cobain regrets what happened today, I don't. I love every minute of it- it was amazing and Cobain knew that. She was the one who came up with the fucking idea so why should I ever apolagize. I find myself so wound up in this mess that I let it go for the night and fall asleep, simultaneously furious at Cobain Riley and worried she will never talk to me again. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sit across from the table from my mother at dinner. I feel disgusting in the same clothing I wore to Cobain's house yet I can't find the energy to change them so I sit there, sulking at how much I hate myself for not having her love me.   
“Something wrong?” my mother asks me. I want to tell her for aside from Cobain, she's about the only other person in my life who I talk to (and for obvious reasons, I can't talk to Cobain about this one) but I don't think talking to my mother about my regrets on sex are is a very good idea so I keep my mouth shut like usual and shake my head no.   
“How was Cobain's house? Did you have fun?” I can't help but snort at her question but instead of going into detail like I'm yearning to (I just need to tell someone), I answer with a short and simple   
“Yes. We had fun.” and hope it will end this conversation but of course it doesn't and she keeps going.  
“What did you guys do?”  
“Watch TV.”  
“How is she?”  
“Good.” my mother finally gets the hint and drops the possibility of conversation and we sit in silence. I know I should at least try and talk to my mother but sometimes, the things I need to say aren't topics you should be discussing with a parent and that's what bother me so much- I have no other friends than Cobain and whenever she fucks up, I'm alone. And sometimes, to be honest, I do undervalue my mother. She raised me a million times better than my father ever did or could and most of the time she did it on her own (thanks to Lindy). The last three years have been a little bumpy and messy and I think the both of us can admit that and though I want to roll my eyes at my mom for missing my douche bag of a father so much, I can't help but admit that there will always be a spot in my mind that wants him to come home no matter what he did.   
“Hey mom?” I finally break the silence.  
“Yeah Charlie?” she's busy doing the dishes as she responds and though I can't see her facial expression, I can tell she's surprised that I started a conversation with her. I am too.   
“Could we possibly like do something together tonight?” I feel so stupid and almost precious for asking my mom to do this with me but I don't want to be alone after what happened today. She finishes up on the last dish (doing dishes for two is pretty easy) and places it in the dishwasher before turning back around to answer.   
“Of course Charlie!” she smiles wide, “What are you thinking?”   
“Could we like uh- what a movie like the two of us used to do every night when dad was away?” I don't why I'm thinking of this but the whole topic of my father has opened up these memories in my head and though I don't exactly want to talk, I just need company. I need someone next to me. She rubs her hands on her old Levy jeans to get all the water off and then nods her head. I can tell she knows I have been thinking of dad though the two of us like to pretend the man was nonexistent.   
My mother and I end up on the worn out couch in our living room. Neither of us have done anything like this in months- years probably but it's so natural as we are curled up and I lean into my mother's shoulder. I pay attention to the movie to try and block everything that happened today out of my head and disappear into the world of the film though I know once this ends, I will have to come back down to reality. As I was well aware, the movie ended and all of a sudden, my problems came back. I look over at my mom on the couch and realize that her eyes are closed and she's leaning her head up against a throw pillow, sleeping safe and sound. I untangle myself from her and slowly and quietly walk up to my bedroom, trying not to wake her for I know she barely ever sleeps. Once I get upstairs, I throw myself across the bed and look up at the ceiling and think about what a mistake today was. Will Cobain ever want to talk to me again? I mean we've had fights before but nothing like this ever. The worst part was, this wasn't a fight. It was so much more. It was an advance in our relationship and something that never will be reversed- there's no way to do it. And what do I say? “sorry for having sex with you even though you were the once who had the idea” there's nothing I really can say sorry for. I didn't ask for any of this so why would I be the one apologizing? It's ridiculous how much I put Cobain's problems on myself to the point where they become my own. Though Cobain regrets what happened today, I don't. I love every minute of it- it was amazing and Cobain knew that. She was the one who came up with the fucking idea so why should I ever apolagize. I find myself so wound up in this mess that I let it go for the night and fall asleep, simultaneously furious at Cobain Riley and worried she will never talk to me again. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sit across from the table from my mother at dinner. I feel disgusting in the same clothing I wore to Cobain's house yet I can't find the energy to change them so I sit there, sulking at how much I hate myself for not having her love me.   
“Something wrong?” my mother asks me. I want to tell her for aside from Cobain, she's about the only other person in my life who I talk to (and for obvious reasons, I can't talk to Cobain about this one) but I don't think talking to my mother about my regrets on sex are is a very good idea so I keep my mouth shut like usual and shake my head no.   
“How was Cobain's house? Did you have fun?” I can't help but snort at her question but instead of going into detail like I'm yearning to (I just need to tell someone), I answer with a short and simple   
“Yes. We had fun.” and hope it will end this conversation but of course it doesn't and she keeps going.  
“What did you guys do?”  
“Watch TV.”  
“How is she?”  
“Good.” my mother finally gets the hint and drops the possibility of conversation and we sit in silence. I know I should at least try and talk to my mother but sometimes, the things I need to say aren't topics you should be discussing with a parent and that's what bother me so much- I have no other friends than Cobain and whenever she fucks up, I'm alone. And sometimes, to be honest, I do undervalue my mother. She raised me a million times better than my father ever did or could and most of the time she did it on her own (thanks to Lindy). The last three years have been a little bumpy and messy and I think the both of us can admit that and though I want to roll my eyes at my mom for missing my douche bag of a father so much, I can't help but admit that there will always be a spot in my mind that wants him to come home no matter what he did.   
“Hey mom?” I finally break the silence.  
“Yeah Charlie?” she's busy doing the dishes as she responds and though I can't see her facial expression, I can tell she's surprised that I started a conversation with her. I am too.   
“Could we possibly like do something together tonight?” I feel so stupid and almost precious for asking my mom to do this with me but I don't want to be alone after what happened today. She finishes up on the last dish (doing dishes for two is pretty easy) and places it in the dishwasher before turning back around to answer.   
“Of course Charlie!” she smiles wide, “What are you thinking?”   
“Could we like uh- what a movie like the two of us used to do every night when dad was away?” I don't why I'm thinking of this but the whole topic of my father has opened up these memories in my head and though I don't exactly want to talk, I just need company. I need someone next to me. She rubs her hands on her old Levy jeans to get all the water off and then nods her head. I can tell she knows I have been thinking of dad though the two of us like to pretend the man was nonexistent.   
My mother and I end up on the worn out couch in our living room. Neither of us have done anything like this in months- years probably but it's so natural as we are curled up and I lean into my mother's shoulder. I pay attention to the movie to try and block everything that happened today out of my head and disappear into the world of the film though I know once this ends, I will have to come back down to reality. As I was well aware, the movie ended and all of a sudden, my problems came back. I look over at my mom on the couch and realize that her eyes are closed and she's leaning her head up against a throw pillow, sleeping safe and sound. I untangle myself from her and slowly and quietly walk up to my bedroom, trying not to wake her for I know she barely ever sleeps. Once I get upstairs, I throw myself across the bed and look up at the ceiling and think about what a mistake today was. Will Cobain ever want to talk to me again? I mean we've had fights before but nothing like this ever. The worst part was, this wasn't a fight. It was so much more. It was an advance in our relationship and something that never will be reversed- there's no way to do it. And what do I say? “sorry for having sex with you even though you were the once who had the idea” there's nothing I really can say sorry for. I didn't ask for any of this so why would I be the one apologizing? It's ridiculous how much I put Cobain's problems on myself to the point where they become my own. Though Cobain regrets what happened today, I don't. I love every minute of it- it was amazing and Cobain knew that. She was the one who came up with the fucking idea so why should I ever apolagize. I find myself so wound up in this mess that I let it go for the night and fall asleep, simultaneously furious at Cobain Riley and worried she will never talk to me again. 

 

 

I sit across from the table from my mother at dinner. I feel disgusting in the same clothing I wore to Cobain's house yet I can't find the energy to change them so I sit there, sulking at how much I hate myself for not having her love me.   
“Something wrong?” my mother asks me. I want to tell her for aside from Cobain, she's about the only other person in my life who I talk to (and for obvious reasons, I can't talk to Cobain about this one) but I don't think talking to my mother about my regrets on sex are is a very good idea so I keep my mouth shut like usual and shake my head no.   
“How was Cobain's house? Did you have fun?” I can't help but snort at her question but instead of going into detail like I'm yearning to (I just need to tell someone), I answer with a short and simple   
“Yes. We had fun.” and hope it will end this conversation but of course it doesn't and she keeps going.  
“What did you guys do?”  
“Watch TV.”  
“How is she?”  
“Good.” my mother finally gets the hint and drops the possibility of conversation and we sit in silence. I know I should at least try and talk to my mother but sometimes, the things I need to say aren't topics you should be discussing with a parent and that's what bother me so much- I have no other friends than Cobain and whenever she fucks up, I'm alone. And sometimes, to be honest, I do undervalue my mother. She raised me a million times better than my father ever did or could and most of the time she did it on her own (thanks to Lindy). The last three years have been a little bumpy and messy and I think the both of us can admit that and though I want to roll my eyes at my mom for missing my douche bag of a father so much, I can't help but admit that there will always be a spot in my mind that wants him to come home no matter what he did.   
“Hey mom?” I finally break the silence.  
“Yeah Charlie?” she's busy doing the dishes as she responds and though I can't see her facial expression, I can tell she's surprised that I started a conversation with her. I am too.   
“Could we possibly like do something together tonight?” I feel so stupid and almost precious for asking my mom to do this with me but I don't want to be alone after what happened today. She finishes up on the last dish (doing dishes for two is pretty easy) and places it in the dishwasher before turning back around to answer.   
“Of course Charlie!” she smiles wide, “What are you thinking?”   
“Could we like uh- what a movie like the two of us used to do every night when dad was away?” I don't why I'm thinking of this but the whole topic of my father has opened up these memories in my head and though I don't exactly want to talk, I just need company. I need someone next to me. She rubs her hands on her old Levy jeans to get all the water off and then nods her head. I can tell she knows I have been thinking of dad though the two of us like to pretend the man was nonexistent.   
My mother and I end up on the worn out couch in our living room. Neither of us have done anything like this in months- years probably but it's so natural as we are curled up and I lean into my mother's shoulder. I pay attention to the movie to try and block everything that happened today out of my head and disappear into the world of the film though I know once this ends, I will have to come back down to reality. As I was well aware, the movie ended and all of a sudden, my problems came back. I look over at my mom on the couch and realize that her eyes are closed and she's leaning her head up against a throw pillow, sleeping safe and sound. I untangle myself from her and slowly and quietly walk up to my bedroom, trying not to wake her for I know she barely ever sleeps. Once I get upstairs, I throw myself across the bed and look up at the ceiling and think about what a mistake today was. Will Cobain ever want to talk to me again? I mean we've had fights before but nothing like this ever. The worst part was, this wasn't a fight. It was so much more. It was an advance in our relationship and something that never will be reversed- there's no way to do it. And what do I say? “sorry for having sex with you even though you were the once who had the idea” there's nothing I really can say sorry for. I didn't ask for any of this so why would I be the one apologizing? It's ridiculous how much I put Cobain's problems on myself to the point where they become my own. Though Cobain regrets what happened today, I don't. I love every minute of it- it was amazing and Cobain knew that. She was the one who came up with the fucking idea so why should I ever apolagize. I find myself so wound up in this mess that I let it go for the night and fall asleep, simultaneously furious at Cobain Riley and worried she will never talk to me again.


	8. Chapter 8

“Cobain, this is the third message I've left on here today. Please just call back and tell me what's going on.” It has been three days since the morning I lost my virginity and Cobain and I haven't communicated at all. I've left voicemail after voicemail on her phone yet she refuses to pick up or even acknowledge the messages. I just wish she would at least give me some sort of recognition. I soon give up trying to contact her for I know that she will get out of this mood and eventually, call me back. But there is still something inside of me. Something that keeps pulling and poking at my gut telling me that this ruined our relationship. That this is the end of our friendship. And that's when I know I fucked up. I shouldn't have let her strip my clothes off me. I should've known that this would happen and then Cobain would never want to talk to me ever again. For the time being, I have no friends and I just have to wait for her to call back (which I keep my fingers crossed she will) so I flop down on my bed like I always do when I feel defeated and look up at my ceiling. I admire all the little cracks and crevices up there and think about how much I miss my best friend.   
It is exactly 5:54 when Cobain Riley calls back. Three hours since the last message I left on her phone got to her and I am more than excited when I see her name come up. I instantly answer the phone with an overly happy   
“Hello!” and I realize I am all too perky. I should be mad. She's the one who chose to have sex. Not me so why should I be forgiving her?   
“Charlie.” her voice comes through the phone in a morbid voice. There is a long gap before she begins talking again. “Holy shit I completely fucked this up and I don't know what to do.”   
“What do you mean?”   
“I have to stop this. I have to stop putting all my shit on you. You fucking put up with it and it's not fair.” I can tell she's about to cry by the way her voice sounds on the brink of breaking into sobs “you don't deserve this Charlie.” she cries.  
“Cobain, stop. It's OK.” I reassure.   
“Not it isn't! I blame all my fucking mistakes on you! I treat you like shit and you don't fucking deserve it Charlie and I can't stand that I'm one of your biggest problems.” she is full out sobbing now and I can hear it through the phone.   
“Cobain, listen to me. You aren't one of my biggest problems.” I am saying in the most calming voice I can produce. “Just come over. It's OK.” I know that if I see her here, I can make this better and she'll calm down.   
“I'm sorry Charlie. I'm so sorry.” she is crying into the phone. I can barely hear what she's saying over the sobs. “I can't let myself ruin everything for you. I just can't Charlie. I-I'm so sorry. I just can't come over.” Cobain is hyperventilating now and I can hear her heavy breaths through the phone. I don't have the ability to make it better and I know that yet I keep trying to search my brain for the right words to say but by the time I can even think a clear thought, Cobain's voice is ringing through my ears again.   
“I've got to go Charlie.” her breathing still hasn't calmed down yet and I can still hear sobs.  
“Cobain, we can work this out!” I yell just so she won't hang up. “It's OK. I'm not mad at you at all. Just come over Cobain. It will be alright.”   
“I can't do that Charlie.” she disagrees before hanging up. I try calling her again about a dozen times after that conversation but she won't pick up and quite frankly, there is nothing I can do but I worry about Cobain Riley. I worry that she will do something even more self destructive than usual. Something she will regret. And today was different than all the other times she has blamed herself for something and freaked out. She usually agrees to come over. She usually at least, listens to me and calms down a bit yet this time there was this thing as though there was nothing I could tell her for she wasn't listening. I tell myself that she is fine. That Cobain is just upset and will recover from this. We will hang out tomorrow and laugh and be just as normal friends. Nothing more. But as much as I try and convince myself everything is alright, I just can't believe it.


	9. Chapter 9

It's about three o'clock in the morning when my mother comes rushing up the stairs. She's making loud, pounding, noises on the steps that I can feel and hear very clearly. I'm laying in bed and turn my head to look as the door slams open to reveal my mother with bloodshot, puffy, eyes. She sits down on my bed by my legs and I wait for her to open her mouth and when it does, nothing comes out except for a sob followed by the flow of tears. I have no idea why she's crying here and when I ask her, she turns to look to me and cry even harder. She finally gets herself together and puts her hands in mine. My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach when she says my name is a morbid tone.  
“Charlie,” she starts but can't finish because she has to let out a choked cry.   
“Mom...” I am beginning to get even more concerned for I know this definitely has to be something terrible. My mom wipes her nose on her nightgown sleeve and finally continues.  
“Charlie, Cobain-”  
“What? Is she OK?” I am panicking now and all of a sudden, I don't want to hear the news.   
“Cobain overdosed a few hours ago Charlie.” she finally says after a long pause of silence. I didn't see this coming. This couldn't have happened. It wasn't supposed to happen and I can't believe it. I don't want to believe it.   
“Is she OK!” I say it more as an exclamation than a question for I am desperate for an answer. My mother is in tears again now and but I try and keep mine in. She will be fine. Cobain always recovers from those things. She's been hung over millions of times and over the moon high- this time can't be any different. It won't be. But I can't stand the answer that I see. My mother shakes her head.  
“Sweetie,” she begins but I stop her. I don't want to hear her. She's lying, making it up. How could she do this to me? Is this some type of joke? All of a sudden, anger has washed over me and I am screaming at my mother about how unfunny this is. How cruel she is being. She looks taken back by my outburst but once I've stopped yelling, she takes her hands in mine and holds them tight. I can tell she wants to cry by the tears in the corners of her eyes but is keeping it in for me.  
“She passed away quickly. Hardly painful as the doctor explained.” she is now hiding her face from me and I know she's crying but I can't point it out because hot, runny, tears are falling from my eyes to the point where I can barely see. This can't be real. I talked on the phone with Cobain only a couple hours ago this couldn't have happened. She wouldn't do this. It is all too much for her. She would never get to this. And that's when anger flashes through my veins but not anger for my mother or anyone else but myself. How could I let this happen? We talked. I could have done something. Why was I so stupid to think this wouldn't happen. I'm an idiot. I can't even keep my best friend alive. I'm sobbing at this point and my mother is holding me and everything is so surreal for I can not get through my head what happened. My best friend is dead. Cobain Riley is dead.


	10. Chapter 10

Cobain Elena Riley died at 12:46 in the morning on Tuesday, July eighteenth. They say she overdosed and that statement was proven by a collection of empty pill bottles on the floor of her bedroom where they claim she died. Her parents found her laying on the carpet “asleep” and when she wouldn't wake up, they called the hospital who couldn't do anything to save her since she had taken the pills six hours beforehand. She overdosed one hour after the two of us talked. The paramedic says she probably died painlessly but slowly since the pills must have taken awhile to kick in yet that still doesn't make me feel better about my best friend- my only friend dying.  
I'm now sitting on the Riley's couch. It's three days after the passing of Cobain and her once welcoming house that served as a second home for me seems to be swallowing me up like the coffin my best friend lays in. the funeral is to happen tomorrow and I have no idea how I will ever be capable of making it when I can barely even get out of bed. My mother insisted I come today though to give my condolences and as much as I'd hate to be in the place where she died, I owe this not to my mother or her parents but to Cobain herself. She needs me. The Riley house smells like fresh baked goods die to the ever so many visitors giving gifts to the family whose daughter passed away. Cobain would have laughed at the sight of so many people here to see her. She'd say they were wasting their time and should go home. That this was ridiculous. Mr. Riley snaps me out of my mind when he stands in front of me and offers his hand out. I shake it reluctantly and instantly look up at Cobain's father.   
“Did Catherine tell you she was planning on- you know?” Catherine. Cobain's birth name. God I completely forgot that her real name wasn't Cobain. She'd made it up in about sixth grade (when I was in fourth grade) and began insisting that everyone called her that and somehow, about all the kids in the school completely forgot about Catherine and changed what they called her. The thought of answering the question escapes my mind and I realize I have been staring off into space for the past couple seconds.   
“I'm sorry Mr. Riley.” I begin, “She never gave any indication. If Cob-Catherine had, I would have stopped it.” I say rather blankly. To be quite frank, I don't want to talk to Cobain's father at all. I almost chuckle at the things my best friend used to say about her dad. She hated the socialites her parents were and to be honest, I don't blame her at all. They left her alone most of the time and maybe if they had been a little less absent, she'd still be here. My heart twitches at that thought for blaming her parents when I, her best friend, couldn't even do anything but I know I can't think like that. This wasn't my fault. I didn't know. As I told Mr. Riley, I had no clue Cobain would ever take it this far. I feel the couch dip and turn my head to see my mother sitting next to me. She begins to rub my knee, an almost comforting gesture.   
“You were strong and brave for coming here today Charlie. You know that right?” she questions. In truth, I'm neither of those things. I'm just a kid who came to his best friend's house to sit on her couch and feel shitty. I've done nothing here today that would make me courageous. A strong and brave person would have helped his best friend or at least not have stupid, pointless, thoughts like mine during her death. Th entire scene resonates within me like a bad pudding as I look around at all the people who had no idea who Cobain Riley even was. I look up to my mom but don't tell her how much bullshit what she just said was. Instead, I give her a weak smile and lean into her shoulder because she's all I have now and though she's my mother and sometimes can be a pain in the ass, she's just trying to help and I know what it's like to be helpless with another person.   
My mother go home after having been at the Riley home for three hours and I am oddly relieved to be back. I hated the morbid feeling of the house. I hated the way everyone there were apologizing and Cobain would have hated it too. She would have been cracking up at how much her parents were affected since this was the most they have even talked about her or addressed the topic of their own daughter in years. My mom has been profusely asking me over the past several days if I need to talk to anyone about this and I keep turning the idea. I don't need a therapist for someone else's death for there is nothing I can do about it except try and move on with my life (which is highly unrealistic) or just somehow hide the pain which is what has been my strategy since Tuesday morning.   
“Charlie, honey, you've got to eat.” my mom says for about the fifth time in the past three days and though she is right, I can't starve, I just don't have the ability to eat anything. Food doesn't have taste anymore. I do take her advice and shove a piece of broccoli into my mouth and then keep on pushing food past my teeth. I just need something to take my mind off of Cobain if force feeding myself is it, then so be it. About fifteen minutes after the plates have been cleared off, I am laying down on the carpeting of my bedroom. I am not really sure why I didn't go to my bed but the floor was deemed a better place in my fucked up mind. My mind takes me to a memory from last summer. Cobain and I are in the woods- the ones we used to go to almost every day and she's perched up on a cluster of rocks right by the river. Her hair is mess of frizz and is blowing about everywhere within the wind. I watch from the bank close to water as she smokes her cigarette down to the butt- a weird habit she picked up, and then shove it into her pocket.   
“It takes a million years for a cigarette to deteriorate.” Cobain explains as she turns back towards me. “Come on.” she gesture her hand towards herself and I somehow find a way to get down to the rocks where she is.   
“What am I going to do when you go back to school?” she questions as she begins to pin her long hair back into a messy up do.   
“You could always come back.” I suggest. She shakes her head.  
“I can't do that and you know why Charlie.” Cobain says, “God I'm going to miss being able to hang out with you everyday.” I nod my head in agreement. I wish she would just come back to school so I could see her.   
“What do you plan on doing on weekdays while I'm gone?” I ask.  
“I'm thinking of getting a job. You know like a proper paying job. Stealing money from my parents is fun and all but I think I'm ready to make my own cash.”   
“That's awesome Cobain!” I exclaim. This is the most she has talked about being productive ever since she dropped out of high school. My bones are getting cramped but as I get up to stretch, I find myself drenched in the river from slipping on a wet rock. Cobain cracks herself up and I take her by surprise, grabbing her arm and pulling her in with me. The two of us are soaking wet by the end of it and in the middle of a fit of laughter. We then ended the day with walking down to the pizza parlor (this was back before Cobain stopped eating) and grabbed slices, scaring most of the customers with our wetness.   
I am all of a sudden shot back into reality with the realization that Cobain isn't here anymore and that's when I get a horrible feeling in my body. I all of a sudden have a need to get rid of everything inside myself. My stomach is churning and I race to the bathroom and puke up all the food I had forced down my throat. I vomit for a good five more minutes with breaks in between and when I know that there is nothing that can possibly come out of me anymore, I send myself crashing onto my bed, sobbing. The thought of her really being gone still hasn't registered in my head yet and I can't think about her. I don't want to. I hate this feeling. My body has gone numb but I can still taste the vomit in my mouth from only a minute ago and it makes me want to purge all over again. I feel disgusting and it must be because I have been sitting in my own sweat for the past three days instead of taking a shower like I should have. But not only do I feel psychically gross but my mind is also just so sticky and messed up that I feel putrid from the inside. I know I should get up. I should take a shower or bath or just get clean somehow but I can't bring myself to leave the bed. It's safe here. I can hide from the real world and just not be a member of society. I can try and convince myself none of this ever happened and everything is perfectly fine. That Cobain and I will hang out tomorrow and everything will go back to the way it was before she took herself out of this world. So instead of doing what I should do, I lay here in my bedroom with an awful taste in my mouth as I think about how much I just hate everything that has happened in the past couple of days.   
I wake up at around three in the morning which is actually more rest than I've gotten in the past three days. I have the same recurring nightmare of Cobain killing herself in all sorts of different ways that sends to bolt right in bed every night. I try to get back to sleep as I have been doing for the past nights but as always, I just end up tossing and turning and them break down thinking of the images I saw in the dream because they aren't all that far from reality. I end up going downstairs and getting a glass of water. I splash my face in the kitchen sink before going back upstairs. As I'm walking to my room, I pass by my mother's bedroom to see the light on under the door. I begin to doubt wether or not it is a good idea to pay her a visit since she is awake but my little kid senses kick in and I open the door to reveal my mother sitting on the bed with a dull reality show playing. She's in her nightgown and her stringy brown hair is up in the usual messy bun. Though there are dark circles just like the ones I am forming under her eyes, she's clearly conscious and gives me a weak smile when I enter her line of vision.   
“Charlie, why are you awake at this hour?” she pretends to be surprised though I am almost positive she is aware of my sleepless nights.   
“I got thirsty and went downstairs to get water.” it was only a half line and my mother most definitely knows that is not the full reason I am in her bedroom at 4:12 in the morning but like a great parent, she doesn't call me out on it and instead pats the space next to her to join her on the bed. I curl up into neck and we sit in the television glare for a couple minutes barely paying attention to the overly dramatic program.   
“Are you taking care of yourself Charlie?” my mother breaks the silence. I am taken aback by her question but I take a deep breath and reply.   
“Yeah ma. I'm taking care of myself.”   
“I-I just don't want anything happening to you Charlie. Please don't do anything like- like you know.” I hate it when my mom just assumes that I understand what she's talking about but this time, I'm fully aware of what she is saying- neither of us can say it out loud though.   
“I promise mom. I won't. Don't worry about me.” I know it is her job to worry but I can't stand my mother thinking I would ever take my own life. But I understand where she is coming from. If I ever left this world voluntarily, she would never forgive herself. You see, my mother already believes she fucked up my life and if anything like that ever happened to me, she would never forgive herself. On another point, I'm all she has. My mother, much like myself, is not a very social person and therefor has only a few friends and we both know where my dad is so if I ever was to leave her, she would be completely alone. I curl farther into her embrace to the point where my lips are touching her arm and let her run her fingers through my raggedy, chocolate colored, hair like all mothers should have the right to do. In this moment, I don't think about Cobain because I'm with my mother. My safety blanket. I remember in preschool I always used to run to my mother when I was afraid or sad or just needed a hug because she was always there. She was always safe and sometimes things don't ever change like this moment. I'm with my mother. The woman who raised me even through those moments when she was the only there. Even before three years ago, when my father left us, she has been the main parent in my life. She was there through the bullies of middle school (and believe me, there were many) and took care of me whenever dad was on one of his “business trips” (also known as weeks with Linda). The television is still casting a light in this dark room and I soon feel my mother's fingers begin to stop running through my hair as she closes her eyes and drifts off. I smile and tuck myself in closer to her. Closer to my safety blanket.


	11. Chapter 11

I never thought I'd be standing inside a church, wearing a suit, to attend my best friend's funeral at eighteen. I can see some of Cobain's relatives up in the front of the chapel and her parents front and center. I try to sit as far away from the casket. I don't want to even think about the all so ever amazing, Cobain Riley laying inside that dark, cramped, box. My mom kept saying that if we sit in the back we won't be able to hear anything but that is the point. I don't want to hear a faulty obituary by someone who barely knew her. Someone who didn't know the best girl in the world. So instead of listening to the words said about her by people who didn't give a shit towards Cobain, I focus on the roses right by the black coffin. They are a gorgeous red and contrast beautifully with the dark colors. I almost chuckle at how amazed I am by a funeral display. For God's sake, this is Cobain's funeral. My thoughts run wild for the next hour as I pretend to listen and try and not think about what my best friend would have said of this ceremony.  
“This is ridiculous.” she would have said. “Who would ever want to take time to come to one of these things? It's not as though the person it is held for can even appreciate it. They're fucking dead!” we would have laughed our asses off at that comment but sadly, she can't make it. The service finally comes to a close and we are forced to make a march into the burial site in a small graveyard right by the woods where we always used to go (yet no one knows that except for me). My heart strings are pulled with the memories of us cutting through this very yard to get down to the stream right behind it. We always used to point out the gorgeous gravestones and Cobain would clean the dust off of the stones.  
“Just so no one is forgotten.” she'd explain. I never actually imagined her being put into these grounds but here we are as that damned black casket is lowered into the already dug hole. The entire crowd pretends to pray for who knows what (I means she's already dead, what more could happen to her?) as I just watch. All of a sudden, I feel tears begin to prick my eyes. I thought I had cried myself out this morning when I looked in the mirror realizing how real this was but apparently there was more left in me and now I am leaning up against my mother wiping my damp eyes in her dress sleeve and pretending as though I have something in my cornea. I feel my mom begin to rub my back and I appreciate the way she chooses not to ask me questions and instead just silently comfort me. I watch as the last layer of dirt covers the coffin up, leaving my best friend in the dirty ground and barely listen as Cobain's parents thank everyone for coming to their daughter, Catherine's, funeral and that she may rest in peace or some shit like that. My mother whispers in my ear that we can go whenever I am ready and I choose to wait for the guests of the funeral to leave and then go up to where Cobain's parents are standing by the new grave holding their daughter and my best friend. My mother stands back but I can tell she will come up to me if she feels as though I need her. I don't give her nearly enough credit for being a fantastic mother. The dirt is new compared to all the other graves that have been there for years and my heart stings at the picture of Cobain's grave looking as old and grey as all the others surrounding her's. Though she would argue that it doesn't matter where her body is since she is, in fact, dead, I still can't help but feel a need for the last remains of my best and only friend in the world to be safe and not decay like I know she eventually will. Mr. and Mrs. Riley are standing next to me and I am so caught up in my own thoughts that I haven't noticed them staring at me.  
“We'll all miss her.” Cobain's mother says as she lays a bony hand on my shoulder. I want to shake her off but I know that would be inappropriate so I just hope she'll ease her grip soon. I look up to see the pain in their eyes and even though they were pretty shit parents, I know they must be heartbroken by this (not as much as I am of course) so just giving them some satisfaction and happiness right now would help my conscience even if it was a lie.   
“Catherine loved you both so much. I am sure she appreciates this lovely service so much.” I try and not cringe as I refer to Cobain as Catherine and lie about her liking the funeral. She would probably hate it to be honest.   
After the burial, guests of the funeral are invited back to the Riley house for a reception. The oak dinging room table is covered in your average caterer food and the soft, over stuffed couches, in the living room are all occupied with visitors from people who attended the ceremony. I don't want to be here. The entire situation is so insanely quiet and average for what should be the reception of Cobain's death. There are tons of ways you can take a funeral and Mr. and Mrs. Riley went with the “celebrating Catherine's life” route with cheerful attitudes, greeting guests and starting to have more lively talks with them. I can't take this room anymore but I know that leaving isn't an option so I do what feels right- go up to Cobain bedroom. I swing the door open so quickly it hits the wall and makes quite a loud noise but I don't even care as I lay down on the inviting four poster bed. Memories of the last time I was here all of a sudden flood back into my head and I can feel a wave of pain and tears coming to me as I curl up into a ball on the floral comforter and sob my eyes out because this is so real and it hit me like a bus just like that. The past four days have given about no real proof of my best friend's death but laying here in an empty room after her funeral service has gotten me to really realize that this isn't just some joke. I mean I saw her lowered into the ground for God's sake. And I just hate this situation. I hate that I didn't stop her from killing herself. I should have been there. I should have insisted that I come over. Should have just said something to make her change her mind but I didn't and I know that now as I curl up further into myself. I hear a soft knock on the door and I turn to see Mr. Riley standing in the doorway. I spring up into an upright position, worried he will be angry with me but he instead just walks over to me and sits down on the bed.   
“I am so sorry Mr. Riley. I will go back downstairs.” I anxiously say.  
“Charlie, it's OK take as much time as you need.” he calms down my panic, “I heard the bang upstairs and just wanted to see if everything was OK.” he says before walking back downstairs without another word. With that, I wrap the floral duvet around myself, it still smells of Cobain's classic scent, cigarettes, coffee, and mint gum. I have never felt more relieved to get a whiff of it as I just breathe the last of her scent in. I take this time to now really look around her room from the bed. There are pictures of the two of us framed in slim black photo frames I smiles at how much she liked to preserve moments. This simple bedroom holds just so many memories that it hurts to know it will someday be barren. Realistically, Cobain's parents will most likely move from here. Get an apartment in the city so their socialite lives will be easier. They will clean out the memories and items from this bedroom and maybe keep some of it while giving the rest to charity or selling it in a garage sale. They will soon be gone before I know it and there's nothing I can even do about it for things like this are out of my reach. I feel weird doing this but I end up in her closet trying to find that rucksack she carried everywhere. I have a sudden desperate need to hold it. To take it from here. I just need it. I basically tear through all her bags to find the black backpack with designs she drew in metallic sharpie. I unfasten the top to find the usual contents of the bag. A pack of cigarettes, her leather wallet, an empty beer bottle, a water bottle half full, and the Listerine gum she was constantly chewing. I then put all the objects back in and fasten the bag up. I don't care what anyone says I need to take Cobain's rucksack home. I need a piece of her in my bedroom. I must have it. I then swing the bag over my shoulder as she always did and trudge back down the stairs to find my mother.   
“Charlie, is that Cobain's rucksack on your back?” my mom questions as soon as she sees me, “Are the Riley's OK with you taking that sweetie?”   
“Cobain is.” I answer blankly. It doesn't matter what her parents say, Cobain would have wanted me to have this and therefor I need it no matter who gives me permission.   
“You should check with Mr. and Mrs. Riley Charlie honey.” I take a quick intake of breath, trying to show my annoyance with her. I take the bag off my back and clutch it close to my body as if anyone will take it from me at any second which is pretty much how I clearly feel about Cobain's parents. I know I should ask them (only for polite reasons, I'm giving this damn rucksack up over my dead body) so I take my mother's advice and go up to my late best friend's parents.   
“Excuse me Mrs. Riley?” I ask to get her attention.  
“Oh Charlie! I couldn't find you!” she is keeping up her ever so chirpy attitude that Cobain constantly made fun of.   
“I was in Cobain's bedroom with permission from Mr. Riley of course and found one of Cobain's backpacks. This bag is really important to me and I just wanted to know if I could possibly take it with me?” Cobain's mother focuses her eyes down to the object in my hands and I know she doesn't recognize it.   
“Of course Charlie. If it meant that much to you take it. It's the least we can do for being such a great friend to our daughter.” Mrs. Riley outstretches thin arms for a hug and I reluctantly come into her embrace letting her run a hand through my short, messy, brown locks and acting as though we are close friends which is about the opposite from out relationship but for now, I can pretend as though we know each other extremely well. As though we have been talking for years and didn't ignore my best friend, their own daughter, for most of her life. She finally lets go of me and I pull away, still clutching the leather backpack that I dearly love oh so much.   
The reception comes to a close about an hour after I requested permission for the bag from Mrs. Riley and since then, most guests had left. I guess they had their fill on the crappy, free, food and were probably going back to watch the game that was on tonight. Oh how inconvenient the suicide of a teenage girl can be. My mother and I spend the car ride back to the house in silence as I look into Cobain's beloved bag at the contents for about the 50 millionth time since I laid my hands on it an hour and a half ago. I breath in the strong scent of Cobain the rucksack gives off and I appreciate the little piece of my best friend I have left as I run my hands over the leather that became rough over years of wear and tear. I fasten and unfasten the top flap that holds Cobain's trusty items and must haves. I think about all the times in the woods we spent together while she wore this backpack. All the things the two of us did with the rucksack on. I won't cry about the loss of times for I have this little piece to remember each and every one of them by remaining to carry this bag around with me. The human brain can forget a whole ton of stuff but objects always remember everything.   
We eventually get back to the house where my mother heats up a frozen pizza for dinner. I know she knows I won't eat but I guess she is trying her best to get some nutrients in my body. The oven chimes after twenty minutes signaling that the chilled food has been cooked and my mother takes it out and places the pizza on the table along with two paper plates. She takes two slices then waits for me, more hoping than expecting that I will eat tonight. I haven't even munched on anything all day yet I have zero interest in the food placed in front of me. My mother and I have a miniature staring contest as she waits for me to take at least a slice but I just shake my head. I don't want to eat.  
“Charlie, honey, you've got to eat something.” she breaks the chilling silence.  
“I can't. I'm not hungry.” I persist.  
“You haven't eaten all day. This isn't healthy sweetie.” my mom continues on.  
“I'm just not in the mood to eat. OK?” I try and control my voice so I don't shout but I can't help but have a small bit of edge in my voice. Her face twists into an expression of disappointment and I expect her to. This entire situation is just so damn disappointing. My best friend is dead and now I am unable to eat. I'm not going to pretend as though that doesn't suck because it undoubtedly does.  
“Please Charlie.” she tries to negotiate by following up with, “Just one slice. Please just try?” I know it isn't too much to ask for yet devouring even a morsel of food seems like a rather arduous task. My mother and I have yet another staring contest before I finally cave in and lift a slice of heated up pizza off the baking tray and try and shove the entire thing into my mouth at once for I feel as though that is really the only way to do this. The mixture of cheese, bread, and tomato sauce glide down my throat after a little bit of effort from my brain having to tell my throat it's OK to eat though I know that's a lie. Though I am almost one hundred percent positive this entire scene looked revolting, my mother watching with hopeful eyes as I gulped down the first real piece of food I've had in days. She smiles as I finally get the pizza down and take a sip from the glass of water right in front of me.   
“Hey good job.” she smiles kindly. We both know how completely ridiculous it is that my mother is congratulating me on something as stupid as eating but I kind of need it at the moment and I won't call her out on it. She is just as clueless about what to do about Cobain's death as I am and truly think the solution to this is by just winging it and I need someone else by my side to do so.   
“Hey mom?” I say a couple seconds after she is done beaming at me for swallowing a piece of fucking pizza.   
“Yeah honey?”   
“Could we watch a movie tonight?” I ask childishly. I am craving the warmth of my mother's embrace as she holds me and I need it tonight. She gives me a rather surprised look as she did last time I requested this only a couple days ago but agrees by nodding her head.  
The two of us are laying down across the soft couch we have owned since I was just a little kid. I remember the day we brought this thing home. I was only about six years old and my father was helping the furniture movers bring it into our living room. That night, we all curled up together and watched a film just like a perfect, cookie cutter, american, families are supposed to do and fell asleep in my dad's arms. Now, it is just my mother and I under a worn out knit blanket watching “Breakfast At Tiffany's” (my mother's choice) as I begin to dose off. Her arms are wrapped tightly around me, keeping me safe and just feeling more secure than I should at sixteen. My mother is asleep now and I can tell my the light snoring sounds she is making and the way her head leans up against my shoulder. Her stringy hair tickles my upper back but I'm fine with it even though it is slightly annoying I guess. I then fully close my eyes and take in everything that happened today. The suit I wore, the ceremony, Cobain being lowered into the ground, the scent of Cobain's rucksack, laying down on the bed where I lost my virginity to her, all the contents of today crawled into my brain and I couldn't seem to get them out as they ran rapidly through head and taunted me. I just wanted to forget everything. I just wanted to pretend as though Cobain was still alive and well and none of this shit ever happened. I want to hate Cobain for putting me here. For messing with my head and changing everything over the past couple days but I can't. I will always love Cobain Elena Riley no matter what terrible choices she made in her life. I will love her because she is my best friend and the most beautiful person to ever come into my life (inside and out). I am madly in love with the way she made me feel and the gorgeous thoughts and ideas she had. I am madly in love with everything Cobain ever did. Everything she ever was because that was my best friend, my sister, and hero in a way. And I am not saying Cobain Riley was perfect because she really wasn't. She was rude at times and hard to be around. She would yell things at me that I couldn't believe she would tell her best friend and made some of the stupidest decisions I have ever seen a human being make (as you can tell by the way she is no longer with us). And I am not going to tell you that those flaws made her beautiful because they really didn't. There were countless times where I was so angry and upset with things Cobain said and done that I almost couldn't stand her but I still loved her no matter what because she was my best friend. She was there for me. She would do anything for me and I have never met anyone in my life who loved me as much as that girl and I loved as much as her. We had a beautiful bond. We were perfectly imperfect as friends and I couldn't help but be in love with her for that. Images of Cobain Riley flood back into my mind as I think about her relationship. I can see her dusty rose colored hair hidden under a bowler hat as she walks through the woods with me following at her heels and my mind comes up with her voice and floods all my thoughts with it. Over the years, it got a bit raspier (we can thank the intensive smoking for that) but it stayed in the same range as it always had been, slightly low pitched with accented higher pitches on certain words and in certain phrases. God what I would give to have just one more conversation with her. I just want to be able to talk to her again. To laugh with her or listen to her sing along to the “Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World” soundtrack as we watched it. I just want her back here so bad it hurts. If she hadn't killed herself, these past four (almost five) days would have been so much different from how they are now. We would go down to the woods and she'd smoke a cigarette as we explored the scenery we had gone through so many times. She would discuss her favorite films and bands with me and we'd probably end up listening to Joy Division (her favorite) in her bedroom on the oak record player that sat up on top of the loaded bookshelf. We'd laugh and talk for hours and hours at time before I'd go back to my house just to wake up the next day to see her again. Everything would be OK because I would have my best friend in the entire world right next to me to deal with all the shit spinning on around us. My mind is beginning to become quite groggy and slow and before I know it, I'm drifting off to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

That night, I dreamed of the first time I had ever met Cobain Elena Riley. I was only nine years old- in third grade and Cobain was two years older than me in a fifth grade class. At the time, she was only starting to discover the wondrous world of Nirvana and Mr. Kurt Cobain and therefor hadn't started calling herself “Cobain”. This was back in her Catherine days that seem like forever ago. We were playing on the same playground that day- it was Friday where all the grades got to play together. I was about just as awkward and strange as I am now and therefor didn't have many friends at that time in my life therefor was about forced to sit on the bench right by the four square court, alone. I guess Cobain was just as big a loner as I at the time


End file.
